


Glazed Eyes and Heavy Hearts

by jpapaya



Category: k pop - Fandom, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Gen, Kim Taehyung | V & Min Yoongi | Suga Are Best Friends, Kim Taehyung | V-centric, Life is hard, Mental Health Issues, Sad Kim Taehyung | V, Sick Kim Taehyung | V, Taehyung is having a hard time, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unknown Mental Illnesses, taegi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 06:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16907712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpapaya/pseuds/jpapaya
Summary: Taehyung only trusted two things to not fuck him over in life:1) fateand2) Yoongi-OR-Taehyung is always running away from something with the help of drugs, and Yoongi has no idea what it is or how to help him. But he’s there for Taehyung—always.





	Glazed Eyes and Heavy Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone. Damn. So. I don’t really know what this is exactly. It’s Tae doing drugs and Yoongi being there for him, but it’s also a lot more. (???)
> 
> I left a lot of this vague and open to interpretation on purpose. :’)
> 
> Please read the tags!!! There is illegal drug use in this as well as detailed descriptions of how Tae’s mental state slips. Please don’t read if this will trigger you in any way, shape, or form. 💜
> 
> Tae doesn’t even know what he’s mentally going through, and he’s doing the best he can with what he knows. And please don’t hate Yoongi in this. He’s just trying to conciliate Tae.

Taehyung’s mother always scolded him to be alert for the strangers skulking his middle-school yard, offering the (mostly) innocent children overpriced and low-quality bags of bud amongst cut, dime-sized pockets of various other drugs with the promises of a happy, overpriced high. He was 14 and familiar with the drag of a cigarette, the full drunkenness that would befall him after half a fifth of rum. Taehyung had even smoked marijuana a few times at his friends’ houses after school, opting to spend the night instead of coming home to his mother and father with drooped, red-rimmed eyes and clothes obviously reeking.

How his mother knew all of this about him as well was beyond Taehyung’s 14-year-old mind, and he never bothered to figure out just how she happened to get her knowledge about him. Taehyung’s mother never exposed him to his father either. She forbiddingly warned him never to delve too deep into the all-too-realistic-mirage of bliss—that he wouldn’t be able to find his way to the surface ever again if he ever lost himself to a haze of barbiturates or a stimulating rush of amphetamines.

——

But Taehyung was a hardheaded son if there ever was one.

He didn’t listen to _listen_. Taehyung merely listened to voice his compliant response to the jumble of words his mother spared him, never thinking too much into what was supposed to be repetitiously drilled into him. She was talking nonsense, he assured himself. She would warn him of the snow and how it could capture anyone in its unrelenting grasp.

He was 23 now and knew the trampled yet yearning hold of Seoul. Taehyung knew its inhabitants. He knew whom he would have to speak to about which drugs and which prices he wanted to pay for said illegals. He knew all of this. Taehyung wasn’t stupid, but he believed the words of these underground gods with a fierce reverence for how they provided him the means to save himself.

He wasn’t a stupid boy (still not yet a man in his mother’s bleary eyes [his father’s gaze would never meet his own]). Taehyung grew to know what drugs were deemed “okay” and which held the highest fatality amongst the ones he frequented. He knew. And then he was simply tired of knowing and figuring shit out for himself. But then Min Yoongi stumbled along his beaten path.

Taehyung didn’t know him, and with time, that changed. And with that change of strangers to friends came Taehyung’s implicit trust in the older.

So Taehyung chose to let go and allowed his life to be gambled in the intertwined hands of fate and one Min Yoongi.

•••••••

He reeks of a dirty desperation. Invisible tendrils of anxiety cover his body, leaving no trace of _normal_ skin, and Taehyung cannot help but bite his lip to the point of tiny dribbles of blood smearing his chin. His spine tingles with a sort of dry apprehension that leaves him aching for a benzodiazepine just to take him off the edge of whatever metaphorical cliff he’s been unwillingly hoisted onto. But he has nothing related to that pick of poison right now.

The encroaching haziness that threatens to completely envelop Taehyung’s mind, body, and soul terrifies him so greatly that he craves a release. His mind will only descend further down its pathetic spiral if he doesn’t do _something_ to stave off the foreboding symptoms. Fuck. Taehyung couldn’t stand the voices, and it’s times like now that allow Taehyung to fully comprehend just why people willingly subject themselves to addictions.

Taehyung gets it.

He fucking gets why the television screens blur and hum with a distorted static and how any noise amplifies and multiplies dramatically in movies. He’s seen enough psychotic thrillers to know that the creators were not wrong. Taehyung fucking gets it. This shit is exhausting. He gets why people can’t trust themselves— _don’t_ trust themselves. Why they clamp their lips shut and force their own hands over their mouths to try to convince themselves that they’re not talking to someone just _not_ _there_ or screaming out. Taehyung gets it. He gets how every noise reverberates inside of his own and others’ heads. He would wildly look around, whipping his head in a frenzied motion, desperate for someone else to hear it as well, but no. Never. Only him and the others living in his head can hear it, but Taehyung swears that it’s real. That whatever it is is legitimately there. He’d bet his life on it.

His teeth rattle. Heart never settles. Breaths stutter. World tilts. Taehyung hears the voices of people he used to love, people he once knew, and they all sound so fucking real—almost like whomever is sitting across from him, holding a conversation. Or screaming at him for being the fuck up he is. Whatever this is—it’s devastatingly sickening for him. It’s pitiful to be so afraid of his own mind. He can’t sleep. The voices are too real. The make believes are entirely too vivid and realistic to be what is considered normal. Taehyung gets twitchy.

It’s all just so tiring. It makes him want to cave—to give up, to admit his own mind got the better of him, and to just stop trying, stop existing. Taehyung supposes he hasn’t been paranoid in the past, but this shit is truthfully making him paranoid, doubting every single thing he hears, sees, or says. He gets what people say when they “zone out”. Taehyung understands the tiny blip of awareness when you slip somewhat in tune to reality. He gets the fogginess that accompanies the trip back to reality.

He fucking gets it all, and, _for_ _the_ _most_ _part_ , he can see everything as it is—how it is. Speech and hearing is where it gets sketchy. What Taehyung means, again, for the most part, is that he can tell if he’s talking. But then there are those times where he would swear on his dead dog’s life that he’s sealing his lips shut and putting his hand over his mouth, yet he still talks. His body vibrates in the not-so-pleasant way, and that is what scares him—the loss of cognizance that means he can’t trust himself. The lack of control that means Yoongi has to hang around to watch over him when Yoongi could undoubtedly do things more important. Everything fucking echoes. Taehyung despises it. It’s downright scary when the monsters in the closet and under the bed turn out to reflect his own face.

So Taehyung gets it because he’s lived it for the past ten of his 23 years of life. And, Taehyung reasons with himself before he topples into whatever warped hell his mind has waiting for him, his blessed vice has the power to simply make it all disappear with the matter of a few quick snorts of his poison off the back of his bent finger. He knows Yoongi will disapprove—will fear that this time it’s cut with fentanyl or something else equally as lethal, but Taehyung trusts fate to not knock him out of the game just yet.

Before his awareness dives deeper (Taehyung is currently shin deep and is quickly sinking further) into the cesspool that is his mind, he swiftly opens the front zipper of his backpack that is sat next to the bed.

Taehyung shakily rifles through the small compartment for the bag containing the cocaine he had bought just the other night. His thin fingers fumble with the finicky plastic to open the bag. The smell of the drug pierces his lungs before he realizes he’s achieved the task of opening the bag.

His vision briefly goes black before he blinks and sees his mother standing before him with a disapproving gaze on him. She opens her mouth to begin berating him, and Taehyung whimpers and shakes his head back and forth a few times. Taehyung blinks rapidly a few times to clear his vision and ensure his mother is not there anymore, but he knows, deep down, that there’s no way she could be in the middle of his and Yoongi’s shared room. He hasn’t had contact with his family in years.

Taehyung warily eyes the small enclosure of the room one more time, gaze sweeping high and low, and then he hurriedly pushes his thighs together (to serve as a net) and carefully expels some of the contents of the bag onto the back of his bent index finger. He shakily leans forward and raises his hand. White powder cascades onto his thighs when he accidentally breathes too harshly, and he curses himself.

“Stupid fuck,” Taehyung murmurs before he heavily exhale through his mouth. His nose then meets his hand. One hand holding his right nostril shut, Taehyung swiftly inhales staccato and deeply. His other hand grapples the bed for the bag, and then he’s dispensing a slightly larger mound of cocaine onto his hand. Taehyung can barely feel his face. The spreading numbness throughout his body was similar to being swathed in a blanket.

Snorting the second bump has Taehyung feeling electric. His veins thrum, and the cesspool within his mind instantly evaporates. Taehyung quietly laughs to himself as he sticks his finger in his mouth, getting it wet. He drags that finger over the remnants of cocaine on his thighs and then swipes the appendage over the back of the hand that acted as a table for his poison.

Taehyung moans aloud as he rubs the remaining powder into his gums. He hums and then pauses to swallow the continual drip that accompanies this high. He coughs to help clear his throat when he abruptly cuts it off at Yoongi’s words.

“You do know that railing that shit,” Yoongi says as he appears in the doorway of their shared motel room, “doesn’t actually help with anything, right?” Taehyung didn’t even notice Yoongi come into their temporary abode. He takes a long glance at Taehyung’s mussed black hair, Taehyung’s pallid complexion (his companion’s melanin was as tragic a loss as any, Yoongi thinks. He mentally compares Taehyung’s color to the eerily similar overcast skies with low storm clouds that hover over Seoul.), his sweaty and furrowed brows, dilated pupils, and the bit of white powder that lingers by his left nostril.

Taehyung inhales gradually before exhaling carefully while a lazy grin appears on his face. He scratches the side of his throat and smacks his lips a few times, feeling as if the drip inside of his throat was tangible. Rolling his neck, Taehyung pauses with his head tilted backwards. “I’m just coasting above my baseline, hyung. I’m so good. Beyond good.” He whispers the last two words before groaning in pleasure.

“Tae, you say you’re good for now. But then you do more,” Yoongi speaks tenderly as he walks over to him on the bed. He stands just a few feet away. “And you want more. And your nose bleeds like hell. Then you’ll pop a few bars before passing out all day.”

And Yoongi isn’t lying. He’s being real with Taehyung, and Taehyung tries to listen to him—to listen to actually understand and not just prattle off a complying response—but he can’t right now. His eyes are lidded, and he exhales softly. Taehyung leans back in both hands, and he can feel his heart pumping and blood rushing ( _fastfastfast_ ) in his head. He feels so content and at peace right now, and all he wants is to revel in it with Yoongi by his side.

Taehyung wants to heap himself on top of his hyung, to tell his elder just how he staved off completely losing it. Taehyung desperately wants to retort that, yeah, what Yoongi said is true and will inevitably happen, but none of that matters because he’s not drowning in his head. His mind is jumbled, yes, but it’s the decent kind—where he wants to word vomit and tell Yoongi why he’s the way he is.

“It’s like a....shit. It’s like I’m my own doctor,” Taehyung stutters out. His body vibrates and buzzes, and—oh, yeah, he should do more blow because he feels amazing for once. Yoongi quizzically looks at him, and Taehyung struggles to articulate his words. “I’m trying real hard to listen to you, hyung—“ he inhales, “and I’m not giving you a bullshit answer. I swear.” He holds a trembling pinky up for Yoongi to hook his own with. The elder complies with a small smile, and Taehyung takes that as his cue to continue.

He’s never told Yoongi any of this. He’s never been this honest with his friend, and it’s frightening, but he trusts Yoongi to not fuck him over and to keep him afloat.

Taehyung opens his mouth, and no words come out. His mind is blank, but he knows he needs more to help him out. So, yeah, Yoongi is right about the cocaine, but he’s also wrong. Or he just doesn’t know. It’s aiding Taehyung, making him a stronger person for now. Because of this, Taehyung quickly turns away from Yoongi and ingests more into his nasal cavity. Yoongi couldn’t watch him do this in such close proximity. The rush feels too good to be true, and Taehyung fidgets on the edge of the bed.

He clutches the bag in his hand after a minute or so goes by. Taehyung’s mind is alight now, and he knows what he wants to say.

Facing Yoongi once more, he opens his mouth to speak when he’s cut off by his friend gently rubbing his fingers across his nostrils and rubbing away the excess powder.

“Thanks,” Taehyung offers with a closed-lip smile. He swallows the drip and closes his eyes as his head spins. His skin feels numb yet prickly, and Taehyung attempts to move himself just a couple inches away from Yoongi. Even though his body bristles with energy, he can’t make himself move. Maybe his subconscious is dictating his life now—not that he ever was. Fate and Yoongi had his trust, and his trust equates to his life.

“You know, I thought that my mother was here,” Taehyung rushes out without thinking of a prompt from Yoongi. “I hadn’t done anything, and she was here for a few seconds, but then she left. And the cocaine?” His voice raises at the end of the word. “Shit, Yoongi-hyung. It makes everything go away. And I know people talk all this shit about self medicating and fucked-up coping skills or whatever, but I fucking did it. I made it all go away.”

Taehyung is proud of himself and euphoric for having come up with a way to deal with his decaying mind. Yoongi stares into Taehyung’s dilated pupils and urges him to continue his supposed explanation. Taehyung does, and he taps his foot against the rough carpet floor disjointedly. “Sometimes it gets so bad that I’m hearing and seeing shit that’s not there. Like I’m talking to my demons. And then—“.

“‘It’?” Yoongi interrupts.

Taehyung nods quickly. “Yeah. I never had it checked, so I don’t have a name for what it is. My parents didn’t like doctors or anything like them. But, I literally kept myself from going off the deep end this time. Albeit I had some help, but ultimately I made the choice to use it and make it all stop—right?” Taehyung grins widely.

Taehyung’s blown-out pupils meet Yoongi’s gaze hungrily, desperate for approval from his hyung.

Reluctantly, Yoongi nods a confirmation to Taehyung’s imploring question. He has no clue what Taehyung’s mental state is like, how deep it runs, and what causes the younger to sometimes whimper at nothing and respond to unspoken words. Words that only Taehyung could hear, apparently.

Taehyung’s disjointed story only serves to worry Yoongi more because it gives him a tiny leeway into understanding Taehyung better. He wants to know why Taehyung snorts absurds amount of cocaine on a regular basis, why he self medicates in the worst way possible with xanax and alcohol together. Yoongi needs to know why Taehyung is currently digging through his tattered backpack to find the baggie of muscle relaxants (soma, Yoongi is sure) the younger never goes without.

Yoongi watches on as Taehyung’s shoulders abruptly hitch up along with the sound of his sharp inhale—undoubtedly bumping more cocaine off the back of his hand. He hears Taehyung groan contentedly before he murmurs a, “ _Fuck_ _yes_ ,” as the hit rushes through him, piggybacking off the other ones he had done. Though his friend, Yoongi has no right to interfere in this process no matter how much Taehyung swears that it’s not going to kill him. Mechanically and wordlessly, he hands Taehyung a bottle of water from the night stand when the younger turns to face him. He gazes on as Taehyung throws his head back and downs a few pills.

Taehyung’s eyes are glassed over, far and distant from sobriety. It pains Yoongi to see Taehyung smile large and lopsidedly at him, to see the younger so drugged up and blissed out on his typical cocktail of cocaine, muscle relaxants, and—soon enough—xanax.

Taehyung allows himself to fall onto his back, and his giggles slur as he rocks himself from side to side. Dark hair fans out from his head, and Yoongi can still see a sheen of sweat on Taehyung’s forehead. A thin line of blood dribbles out of Taehyung’s left nostril, and the boy doesn’t even notice it, doesn’t even feel it.

Yoongi almost wants to reprimand him, but he doesn’t know Taehyung’s full story, and he is afraid he will never know. Taehyung has once explained to him that he only trusts two things to not fuck him over in life, explained that he was tired of orchestrating his own downfall. One of those is fate, and it’s a gamble everyday for the younger while all Yoongi can do is merely sit back. The other, to which Yoongi still finds immense surprise in, is himself. Why Taehyung trusts Yoongi so blindly, the elder doesn’t believe he will ever know.

So Yoongi observes as Taehyung hums to himself in his slumped state, swallowing deeply and tracing his gums with his tongue. He listens as Taehyung mumbles to himself. Yoongi watches the cocaine high fade from his friend’s eyes, and within that short amount of time, the relaxants kick in, and Taehyung’s eyes are almost closed.

“‘M so heavy, hyung,” Taehyung slurs as he tries to sit himself up. He doesn’t make it and flops back onto the bed. Moaning in pleasure, Taehyung let’s out, “It’s a different good, but it’s still _good_.”

Yoongi barely hears the emphasis on the second “good”. All Yoongi can do is blindly trust fate just like his Taehyung does and pray that it never separates the two.

**Author's Note:**

> So you made it. Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate it.
> 
> Why do you think Tae is the way he is? What do you think triggered him?
> 
> Why is Yoongi so lenient with Tae even though he knows Tae’s only hurting himself?
> 
> Please share your thoughts in the comments! I’d love to bounce ideas back and forth. Kudos and comments are ALWAYS appreciated. 
> 
> Catch me on Twitter: @jiapryor
> 
> I love making new friends. 😅


End file.
